


Tools of the Trade

by Anonymous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Gunplay, Guns, Jim being a little shit, M/M, Murder, Object Insertion, Terrible Gun Safety, a lot a lot a lot of guns, no seriously there are guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian becomes more intimately acquainted with his rifle than he's used to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tools of the Trade

Sebastian has few facets of his life that Jim does not squeeze himself into. It took barely any time at all for Jim to take over his job, his shitty three-room flat in Tottenham, his bed, his time, his mind and soul. His skin is marred with physical scars from Jim's ministrations and his mind bears the memories of years of working back from that one shattering point in time. Sebastian accepts that Jim possesses him inside and out.  
But there are some things Jim just doesn't venture near. Like Sebastian's guns.  
Especially Sebastian's guns.  
Now, Jim ran his empire before Sebastian stumbled along with a dishonorable discharge and a stolen rifle in a beaten leather case strapped to his back. He knows how to handle a gun. But Sebastian treats the tools of his trade with a certain level of reverence that Jim can't ever hope to replicate. Sebastian handles the parts with care, diligently cleans them and puts them back together, revels in dismantling such a powerful extension of himself and them putting it back together. Jim holds a certain reverence for watching Sebastian in action, stock pressed to his shoulder and attention magnified a hundredfold through the scope, but he can't appreciate the smooth metal under his fingers the way Sebastian does.  
~  
Sebastian cleans his guns downstairs in the basement that Jim forged into a makeshift armory for him. He sits hunched over his work desk, sliding pieces of his rifles out and polishing them until they shine. He can sit for hours, meticulously studying each part, making sure that each cog fits together in the well oiled machines that lurk behind the scenes of Jim Moriarty's empire. He gets lost in it, stays until long after dark, until the final pieces are snapped into place and he trudges back up the stairs to find that Jim's ordered Chinese again without asking him.  
Today, though. Today Jim breaks tradition. And Sebastian doesn't even realize it until he hears the quiet whisper in his ear. "Hey there, tiger."  
Sebastian sits bolt upright and nearly drops the end of the barrel that he was holding up. "Fuck's sake, boss, bit of warning might be nice."  
"You should always be on your guard, Sebastian." The voice is on the other side now, gentle puffs of breath caressing his ear, but Sebastian won't turn around.  
"Yeah, well. If somethin' got down here, it would've had to get past you, an' I don't think that's real likely." Sebastian sits up a bit straighter and is able to hold that position for about three seconds before Jim's fingers are tangled in his hair and his temple is slammed against the work bench surface. He grits his teeth as pain explodes before his eyes and blinks away the sparks.  
"The hell are you doin'?" he demands, but Jim just grips his hair tighter.  
"Be nice, Basher. I was just /bored/ upstairs." Jim's voice bears a hint of danger under the flamboyance, and it's enough to send a shiver down Sebastian's spine and to still his body. "And I just wanted to see how /intimately acquainted/ you were with some of these." He gestures with this free hand toward one of the rifle cases lined against the basement wall.  
"You know I can take 'em apart no problem-" Sebastian starts, but the hand in his hair twists painfully and cuts off his words.  
"I know what you can do to them," Jim says. "I want to see what /they/ can do to /you/." He presses down a little on Sebastian's head, then releases him. "Stay."  
Sebastian stays. And it's driving him absolutely mad. He's desperate to look up, look behind him and see what Jim's doing. He can hear shifting, and the clicking of the latches on his cases flipping open and shut, and he grinds his teeth thinking that Jim might mishandle something - he doesn't, never does, couldn't possibly, he's not that stupid - until the hand is back, scratching gently at his scalp, rubbing his neck until it grips his hair again and hauls him up over the work bench.  
"There we are," Jim coos, running his fingers through Sebastian's hair. Sebastian shifts uncomfortably and pushes the rifle he was working to the side, out from under his chest. "Now stay still for me, there's a good tiger." There's a solid thunk - Sebastian bites his tongue but doesn't look - and suddenly there are hands around his chest, around his waist, sneaking down and undoing the button of his trousers and working their way inside. It catches him utterly by surprise, and he can't quite stop the hiss that escapes when Jim's fingers close over his cock. Jim jerks him a few times, rough and uneven, through his pants, and then the pressure is gone and his trousers are being worked down his hips until his arse is laid bare. Sebastian swallows hard and sighs.  
"If you wanted t' fuck me over something, y'could've just asked."  
Jim laughs, low and more unnerving than Sebastian will ever admit. "Who said I was the one who was going to fuck you?" He leans over Sebastian for a second, his chest pressed to Sebastian's back, and then he retreats again, hovering behind his sniper.  
"What the hell are you-!" Sebastian is cut off mid-sentence as two slicked fingers push their way into him with no warning. He groans and twists, trying to pull away without moving. It's not often that Jim fucks him, or at least he hasn't for a while, and Sebastian isn't used to being opened up. He's barely adjusted to two fingers when a third one is pushing in, and Sebastian can feel the moisture from Jim's hand beading around his arse.  
"Is that…?" And Sebastian lets out a bark of laughter, because the fucker is using his gun oil as lube.  
He can practically hear the grin on Jim's face behind him. "Might be." He works Sebastian open for a little longer, flexing and curling his fingers until he brushes that one spot inside Sebastian that makes him jerk into the work bench, moaning quietly. "Hold still."  
The fingers retreat and Sebastian squirms, feeling vaguely empty now. He listens carefully for the slide of fabric and the metal rubbing of a zipper, but it doesn't come. Nothing comes, except for a couple of wet sounds that Sebastian assumes are coming from the gun oil bottle and the sound of something smooth rubbing over smooth.  
And then all at once there's something pressing against his hole, into his arse, and Sebastian's eyes snap open. Because he knows cocks and this sure as fuck isn't one. It's colder, and blunter, and almost perfectly round, not as wide as Jim's cock but longer than…  
Oh.  
/Oh/.  
Sebastian nearly sits up at the realization, but he can practically feel Jim's gaze on him, pinning him down. "Jim…?"  
"Yes, Sebastian?" Jim's voice is amused now as he pushes the rifle a final few centimeters into Sebastian.  
"Is that-?"  
"Is that a rifle, you mean?"  
Sebastian nods dumbly. Behind him, he hears the ratchet of metal and his stomach twists and he feels lightheaded as a surge of blood rushes south.  
"A rifle."  
"Please don't make me repeat myself," Jim says, a smirk twisting his words. "You do know how I hate it." He twists the rifle a bit and Sebastian's gasping, his fingers are scrabbling over the work bench's surface, trying to find something to hold onto. "To make it clear. I /am/ fucking you with one of your rifles." He pulls the rifle back a little, then thrusts it in again and Sebastian has to work very hard not to grind into the table. "And I'm going to keep on until you're /finished/."  
Sebastian can't help the moan that bubbles out of his throat, nor is he sure he would want to, because Jim takes that as the signal to start moving and /Christ/. It's not that it feels terribly good -well, of course it feels good, Jim's got it angles just right so it brushes past his prostate on every thrust - but the thought of being bent over his own work bench with a rifle, /his/ rifle, one that he's taken countless lives with, thrusting in and out of him…  
"Bring yourself off." The words sound foreign in Sebastian's ear, a break in the whispered moans he himself has been letting out, and Sebastian almost tells Jim to do it himself before he remembers that rifles are generally two-hand deals. He reaches down and blindly strokes himself with one hand, keeping his white-knuckle grip on the table with the other. He sets up his own rhythm, fucking forward into his fist and then back against the oncoming thrust of the gunmetal, long since warmed to his skin. And it's almost enough, it's so close to being enough, and Sebastian's hurtling alongside the edge, his mind consumed with thoughts of the barrels of guns pressed to the back of his head and down his body and rutting into whatever he can.  
Then Jim clicks the safety off and Sebastian is gone.  
He mumbles Jim's name into the wood as he comes, shooting against the edge of the work bench and onto the floor. Jim helps him through it, slowing the thrusts down until Sebastian is spent and panting against the wood. He eases the rifle out of Sebastian's arse and sets it down on the bench, and Sebastian can hear him walking around in the empty space of the basement. A moment later, there's a quiet swish and a hand towel lands on his back.  
"Get yourself cleaned up and done down here." Jim's tone is strictly business again. "I'll be working in the study." With that, he turns and goes back up the stairs, leaving Sebastian to wipe up the bench and the floor and his own arse, still sticky with gun oil, before pulling his pants and trousers back up and starting over with the rifle on the table.  
~  
He knows his rifles back to front, every single one of them, but sometimes he knows them so well he doesn't have to pay attention. Especially on a routine job like this, where the client is in a petty revenge scheme and not trying to destroy whole countries, the workings can be almost mechanical. Get the address. Scope out a vantage point. Set up. Check the time. Wait. All in all, a fairly dull job, as jobs for Jim go.  
Sebastian doesn't pause when he goes downstairs and found a note pinned to one black leather and metal case. It didn't say much, only a few words. "Use me. -JMx" So Sebastian just shrugs and pulls the strap over his shoulder, tucks a pistol into the back of his trousers, and hurries upstairs to catch the car that Jim has hired for him. He spends the car ride rechecking the emails Jim had sent him about his target, reaffirming his location and picture, and carefully synching all of the times together.  
So it isn't until he sits perched on a roof thirty yards above the city streets, staring into the ninth floor of the building across from him that he realizes with a sinking feeling that he knows this rifle.  
He knows this rifle well.  
He is /intimately acquainted/ with this rifle.  
Sebastian blinks and swallows hard and suddenly his trousers are much tighter than he usually likes them to be during a job.  
His hands are just on the wrong side of shaky as he reexamines the rifle as if seeing it for the first time. He remembers the swell of the barrel, the wider part pressing in first, the way the smooth edges ground inside him until he saw stars. He remembers the safety coming off and has to stifle a whimper.  
Sebastian half sees something move in the scope and snaps back to attention. His cock is throbbing, made more than a little uncomfortable by the pressure of his zipper, but he can ignore it for now. As long as the target is there, he has something to focus on.  
False alarm. It's not the target.  
Sebastian relaxes and tenses all at the same time. His finger slips off the trigger and over to its usual resting place on the side of the body. His other hand runs up and down the barrel, in wonder of how it could fulfill two such different purposes.  
He might be imagining it inside him again. Maybe. Just a little.  
He's rocking up into the palm of his hand when the target finally does show up. But it's a straightforward job, as jobs for Jim go, and it's barely any trouble at all for Sebastian to stop for a second, readjust his aim, and fire before sinking back to his knees and grinding the heel of his hand against his painfully hard cock.  
Just as he's finishing packing up, his phone goes off in his pocket and he knows that it's Jim and a wide grin spreads itself slowly across his face. He ignores the call - he really shouldn't do that, he knows, but he's eager to get home now. The car is waiting for him at the appointed three blocks away and Sebastian spends the trip back home brushing his fingers over the smooth, sleek metal of his pistol. He pops the magazine out and tosses it onto the seat next to him, then thinks for a moment and slots it back it. He pulls the safety off and a thrilled shiver runs through him at the muted click. He wonders if he'll ever be able to listen to it again.  
Suddenly the car is idling outside the flat and the driver is looking at Sebastian expectantly. Sebastian nods at him, then gathers up his equipment, tucking the pistol into his waistband and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. The car drives away as soon as he closes the door and he quickly makes the journey up to their flat. He unlocks the door and pushes it open to find Jim lounging on one of the leather couches, facing away from him, watching the news.  
"You didn't answer your phone."  
"No. I didn't." Sebastian sets his rifle case down. He pulls his pistol out, adjusting his hand on the grip. "I didn't answer my phone."  
"Why not?" Jim sounds disinterested now.  
"Because I was too busy with the fact that you sent me off with a rifle that was up my bloody arse two weeks ago."  
Jim turns around at that and he's wearing the biggest grin Sebastian's seen in a long time. "Figured it out, did you?" He gets up off the couch and saunters over to Sebastian. "How long did it take you? Until you were packing up? Before?" He leans in close and Sebastian meets his gaze without flinching. "Did you toss off on the roof? Was it before or after you killed that man? Killed him with the same thing that /fucked you over/-" Sebastian grabs Jim's shirt collar with one hand and whirls him around, pinning him to the wall.  
"Before," he growls in Jim's ear. "Soon 's I'd set up. target wasn' due for a while and I realized what you did."  
"Yeah? And what are you going to do about it, then?" Jim taunts.  
Sebastian shifts his weight, pinning Jim against the wall with his hip, and jams the gun up under Jim's chin. "Think 'm gonna do this about it."  
He's not an idiot. He can't miss the way Jim's pupils dilate when the cooling metal is pressed into his skin and starts to warm again. He can't miss the way Jim subtly, so subtly, pushes against the barrel. And he certainly can't miss the way Jim moans, as if Sebastian were touching his cock instead of under his chin.  
"You like that? Bloody well pleased about that." Sebastian leans in close and uses the gun to tilt Jim's head up until he's at the perfect angle for Sebastian to kiss. And it's more of a bite than a kiss. More of a devouring. He's got tension built up from the roof, but that's only an hour or so worth. Sebastian feels, in the undercurrents of Jim's already hitching breath, that Jim has been wanting something like this for a while now.  
And fuck if Sebastian won't give it to him.  
He divests Jim of his trousers and pants quickly and pauses only to pull his own cock out of his trousers - huge sigh of relief as the pressure alleviates - and find the small portable bottle of gun oil he keeps in all of his rifle cases. Jim's always been fond of minimal preparation, and they shagged last night anyway, so he's still a bit loose. It only takes Sebastian a couple of fingers and a couple of minutes until he's slicking himself up and slamming into Jim, forcing the man up against the wall. Jim yelps and tries to keep his balance, and eventually does so by wrapping one leg around Sebastian's waist. Sebastian reached down with his free hand and jerks Jim higher up against the wall, driving hard into him, hard enough that Jim has to reach out and cling to Sebastian to keep from falling. Sebastian grins, feral and violent, and he twists the gun under Jim's jaw. The shudder he gets in response is all he needs.  
Sebastian pounds Jim hard, mercilessly, relentlessly. Jim's got both hands in his hair now, yanking him back and baring his throat, tight and leading although Sebastian's not really sure exactly where Jim could be leading him when he's pinned to the wall with a cock up his arse and his legs wrapped around the man who's pointing a gun at him. Sebastian himself is losing his grip on the gun, almost tossing it aside in favor of holding Jim up, but one look at Jim - Jim whose head his thrown back against the wall and whose eyelashes are fluttering against pale skin and whose mouth is half open, letting out very much the same moans that Sebastian did when he was in Jim's position - and he just redoubles his efforts, clicking the safety off and pushing the edge of the barrel against the pulse point in Jim's neck. Jim arches into the touch, mumbling and writhing and bucking against Sebastian as much as he can while pinned.  
Sebastian leans in and licks a stripe up Jim's neck, tongue playing around the edges of skin and metal. "You love this, don't you?" he hisses, moving up to Jim's ear. "Can't fuckin' stand the dullness of it all, an' now you're on every edge you can possibly be on." He bites Jim's ear hard and is rewarded with a choked groan. "Any breath could be your last, if this gun went off. Right. Now." Each word is punctuated by a jerk and a twist of the barrel and Jim is so close now he's practically panting for it. "You're on so many edges, Jim. You gotta fall off one of them." He tosses the gun to the side, lets it fall on the floor, and reaches up to tilt Jim's head up and capture his mouth in another kiss. Another devouring.  
Jim tenses against him and moans something into his mouth as he comes, splattering the front of Sebastian's shirt white. Sebastian rides out the contractions of Jim's muscles around him, lost in his own orgasm, wishing he had the gun or an edge or Jim's throat in his hand to squeeze as pleasure tears through him.  
Once he comes down, he presses his forehead against Jim's, breathing deeply, sharing the same air. Jim looks up at him hazily, meeting his eyes with a sort of confusion that Sebastian knows only lasts a couple of minutes at best. "S'bastian?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, let's get you down." Sebastian props Jim up against the wall and slides out of him as carefully as possible. He helps Jim slide down to the floor, knees pushed up in front of him, and he digs around in his rifle case for a spare cleaning cloth. Jim halfheartedly cleans himself off as Sebastian tucks himself back into his trousers. He finds the pistol and inspects it for damage and, satisfied with finding nothing wrong, he puts the safety back on and tosses it onto the couch. He sits next to Jim, nudging Jim's knee with his own.  
"Hey. Look at me." Jim looks up out of the corner of his eye, barely turning his head. "If you want me to fuck you with a gun, that's alright too. Jus' let me know, yeah?"  
Jim, for all his post-coital tiredness, just smirks back up at him.


End file.
